Warhorse
by Damon Lowe
Summary: I get thrown into the X-Men's dimension. I pity them. Not sure what genre to put this in, cause I have yet to figure the story out. PG13 for really bad language. So far.


While I hardly need another fanfic to never finish, I can't help myself. At least I'm not deleting anything this time around. Elu will continue to do my disclaimers, as always... curse this damned text format.  
  
Elu: ::rolls eyes:: If you hate this bloody program so much, then learn to fix the others, dimwit. ::sigh:: I'm surrounded by idiots.  
  
No, you're surrounded by faux fur, pillows, and blankets. And my Panthera plushie.  
  
Elu: Like I said before: surrounded by idiots. Damon doesn't own X-Men. Come to think of it, she doesn't own anything.  
  
Yeah, so don't sue. You'll get a ball of lint and a handful of change. If I'm feeling generous.  
  
Elu: No, stupid! You'll give the nice people at Marvel whatever Judge Judy tells you to!  
  
Y'know, I should do an entire original fiction that's nothing but me arguing with this damned plush horse. It'd be funny.  
  
Elu: I'm glad you find me so amusing.  
  
+++++++++++++++  
  
+++++++++++++++ (railroad tracks!)  
  
For years I had wanted to see New Orleans. My aunt used to go there on business trips during Mardi Gras every year. She would come back with all sorts of bizarre souvenirs, like alligator jerky. Good stuff, 'gator jerky. We had planned on going down to see Mardi Gras together when I got a little older, which would've been a wicked awesome birthday present!  
  
Of course, we had planned on doing a lot of things together when I got older. Like a tour of Europe, going back to Washington, D.C., maybe even a cross-country road trip. But mid-December, everything came to a screeching halt. For the year and a half prior, my aunt had been fighting cancer. At one point, we thought it was all over, but then it came back, worse than before. She spent her last days at St. Vincent's Hospice in northern Indianapolis, and one day, she just didn't wake up. True, we were happy that she was no longer suffering. But to lose someone like my aunt... she was about the closest thing to an angel I had ever met.  
  
So life fell apart. Christmas was downplayed, and we didn't even celebrate the New Year. It took a while for us to pick up the pieces and attempt to move on with our pointless lives. But half my future had died with her. Without her, I would be forced to live out my remaining seventy or so years in Indiana, the place I had come to hate and loathe. The place that couldn't save her.  
  
Plans changed, and I set my sights on something simple: a degree from Ohio State, the people who had kept my aunt alive for the majority of that year and a half. I owed them a lot. I owed them my own life. After that, I planned on staying in Columbus, Ohio, where my aunt had lived for nigh five years. There, I would attempt to take up a career as an ASPCA officer, which was the only way I could tolerate to help those in need. I promised myself, and swore on my aunt's grave, that I would do everything in my power to help bring down those that hurt and destroyed others' lives, even if it only meant saving a few neglected animals. It wasn't my original plan, but it was a start to rebuilding that which I had lost.  
  
By the end of January, things were finally settling into a semi-normal routine. I went back to school, and went back to being miserable and angry with life in general. I continued to snap and yell at my friends, and slowly degrade their high self-image, whether I truly meant to or not. I managed to put the town jackass in his place by way of a few well-placed scratches right across his face.  
  
On one particular Friday afternoon--a Friday I would spend half of with my dad--I was informed that during Spring Break--a whole week away from the misery of school--I would finally get a chance to see New Orleans. My aunt's friend, JoEllen, a Cajun New Orleans native, had arranged for me a trip down to New Orleans to see Mardi Gras. I would fly down there--alone--the Saturday morning before Break truly began, and return the following Saturday. I would stay with JoEllen during the week I was there, and she would show me the city. It was heaven! I had finally gotten a chance to live my dream!  
  
So that was why I was sitting in an airport terminal at Indianapolis International at five o'clock on a Saturday in my stylish Alligator Wrestling Team T-shirt--which was covered in red dye to resemble blood and had a large hole in the side like I had actually been bitten in half by a 'gator--and my khaki pants, half asleep and praying to God that they would hurry up and let us board. Just as I was about ready to hit up the nearby Starbucks for a double-shot, I was whacked across the back of the head by something heavy. As I blacked out, I could hear people around me shouting, "Oh my God!" and "What the fuck!" The room went fuzzy and dim, and the voices seemed to echo. Eventually, and painfully slowly, I fell limp and slid down onto the floor. The last conscious thought I had was 'Grab the bags!' Of course, that wasn't possible, since I fell right onto my suitcase and backpack and lost all consciousness.  
  
+++++++++++++++  
  
When I regained consciousness, my vision was still dark and blurred. 'Damned contacts,' I thought. At least I didn't have to wear glasses anymore. Then I would've been in trouble. Although I couldn't see, I had the distinct feeling something was amiss. I laid still for a moment more while waiting for the room to brighten and come into focus. It took a while, and I feared I might have gotten a concussion. And if I had, what would it have mattered. It wasn't like anything could do anymore damage to my state of mind.  
  
"Flight 4273 now boarding, Gate 20, 8:15 to New Orleans, Louisiana," announced a female voice over the loudspeaker.  
  
'That's not right. It's supposed to be Flight 4319, Gate 16, 5:35 to New Orleans,' I thought, overjoyed that I had remembered all that nonsense. 'And there wasn't a lady at the desk anywho. It was that scary old guy.'  
  
I sat up painfully and looked around. No. The terminal was too large. Indy Airport was never that big. I would've asked what airport we were at, just to be sure I hadn't lost my mind, but people would've looked at me like I was an idiot. And I'm not so incredibly stupid that I entirely forget where I am.  
  
Grabbing my bags, I set off to find a newsstand, just to prove to myself that I knew exactly where I was. Upon reaching a newsstand, however, I became completely confused. The Indianapolis Star was nowhere to be seen. All sorts of New York papers, but not one Indy Star. That was a bad sign.  
  
I passed the stand as casually as I could, hoping against my family's horribly bad luck that the guy in the stand wouldn't notice how stiffly I walked. But then I stopped, catching sight of the headline on the front page: "New Yorkers Protest Veto of Mutant Registration Act." That was definitely a bad sign.  
  
"Hey kid! You gonna buy something or stand there with your mouth open?" snapped the guy running the newsstand.  
  
Jumping a bit, I shook my head and looked up the man. "Oh... uh, sorry, sir. Didn' realize. I'll be, uh, just... leavin'."  
  
As I turned to leave, I heard him distinctly mutter, "Fucking mutants. Think they own the Goddamn world."  
  
I looked back over my shoulder to glare at the man, and that's when I noticed for the first time: the fox tail. I resisted the urge to jump about in a circle, thereby making myself look like a dog chasing her tail. I raised a hand to feel my ears, expecting the worst. And getting the worst. Fox ears. 'Damn the family curse.' This was quite impossible, as mutants technically weren't supposed to exist. But three pieces of evidence? You couldn't deny proof like that!  
  
Acting like I hadn't noticed his comment--or the ears or the tail--I went on my way, strutting down the main thoroughfare of the airport. Fine! If people didn't like mutants acting like they ruled the world, the damned if I didn't act like I ruled the fucking world!  
  
Finding other mutants was fairly easy. They were the only people who would smile, nod their heads, or wave. But this was New York, and I didn't dare stop and talk to anyone. Not after watching "Law & Order" fifty times or more. I did make an effort to pretend like I knew where I was going, though. I would fervently glance up at every sign, looking for anything that might read "Exit." The two hundred dollars in my wallet--which surprised me, because generally my mother didn't allow me to carry that sort of money--was burning a hole in my pocket. I knew better than to spend it on worthless souvenirs, though. I would need that two hundred to try and find a way home.  
  
Then a thought struck me: maybe two hundred would be enough for a cab fare to Westchester! In Westchester, I could find help. As long as I knew ^where^ to go, I would be fine. Getting there might be the problem.  
  
After nearly an hour of wandering around the airport, searching for a way out, I discovered an exit sign. I didn't like the idea of standing outside in New York City, but I had no real choice.  
  
While waiting outside, I spotted a newspaper. The date was March 25. Too late for Mardi Gras here. The celebration would've ended a few days ago. "Damn. That means I ^missed^ Mardi Gras," I muttered to myself. "Argh! Fuck it!" I dropped my suitcase onto the ground and stood staring blankly at the road.  
  
At the right moment, my gaze slipped further down the road, where a cab sat empty save for the driver. Snatching my bags, I took off towards the taxi, weaving in and out of people who most likely had business to accomplish that was worth more than my life. As I slid a half inch on the concrete to stop, panting lightly, I asked the driver, "Will two hundred get me t' Westchester?"  
  
"No," replied the driver laughingly. "It'll get you t' th' othah end o' th' city! I charge extra for mutants!"  
  
Shock and anger fought for control. Then, calmly, I asked another question. "Why?" It was the one thing that annoyed adults to the point of screaming.  
  
" 'Cause uh... uhm, oh damn," stuttered the driver.  
  
I grinned at him, my eyes narrowed and my lip lifted to show my teeth. It was the expression I gave anyone whom I had tricked or showed up. I was my "I'm superior to your ass, so shut up or put up!" look.  
  
The driver muttered a string of insults under his breath as he reset the counter. "Fine!" he spat. "Regular fare leaves it at one-twenty-five t' get ya t' Westchester."  
  
As I shoved my bags into the taxi and climbed in, he continued to mutter to himself. "I don't believe this!"  
  
"C'est la vie, monsieur," I replied loudly. Since he decided to make himself look like an idiot in front of me, I decided to make him look even more stupid when he began questioning what I said.  
  
"Yeah, whatever," he growled back.  
  
The drive to Westchester was nigh two hours, and as we approached the county border, the driver spoke to me for the first time since we left the airport. " ^Where^ in Westchester were ya plannin' on goin'?"  
  
"Not sure entirely. The street I know, but the exact address seems to have escaped me," I said, enunciating every syllable. "Graymalkin. That's all I remember."  
  
"That figures... mutant," he hissed under his breath.  
  
'So,' I thought, trying to place exactly which dimension I might be in, 'it's definitely not the movies!' As long as the common folk like that poor illiterate knew about Graymalkin, I could start scratching off the possibilities.  
  
I was hoping against everything--as I often do--that this particular dimension wasn't comic book-based, as I lacked so much understanding when it came to comic books.  
  
The driver took me somewhere in the middle of nowhere, muttered something about Graymalkin, pointed at a street sign, and told me to start walking. Not at all pleased with the man, I paid the fare, denied him anything in the way of a tip, and threatened to blow his cab up with my mind if he didn't scram. Not that I could've, but how was he to know that?  
  
I waited until the little yellow dot disappeared down the road before I turned to continue down Graymalkin. The wind was horrible, and I was just glad it wasn't raining. If I got wet, I would end up sick. And I hated umbrellas. To keep my hair from blowing in my face, I pulled out a white and black bandana, folded it into nothing more than a strip of cloth, and tied it around my head. I had a difficult time getting the damned thing on because of my ears, but had no choice, because there would've been absolutely no way to get my nice Purdue University hate on. To hell with all the bad luck!  
  
Walking to the other side of Westchester wouldn't've bothered me. The countryside surrounding Graymalkin was beautiful. Trees everywhere. And no cornfields, thank God. After a half hour of marching across the hard pavement, I got tired of the monotonous trees. My attention span held a record of maybe an hour at best, and that was only on the internet.  
  
But the boredom wasn't the only thing causing me to stop. I could pick up the faint roar of a motorcycle, heading my way. By the sound of it, the engine was too big, and there were probably no mufflers. I always hated the idiots who thought it necessary to make a bike even louder. I happened to be at the base of a long hill, and I watched the top of the hill so intensely, my eyes began to lose focus again. Shaking my head, the hill returned to normal, and I caught the first sight of the overly-loud motorcycle. I couldn't see who was riding it, so I dropped my bags. If it meant standing here and waiting, then darnit! I'm going to stand and wait!  
  
As the bike drew closer, I noticed it gradually slowing down. The closer it came, the more I backed up toward the tree line, having picked up my suitcase and backpack again. If the person on the bike wasn't friendly, I wasn't going to stand there and make a target of myself, and I definitely wasn't going to leave my stuff just lying there for them to steal! I was incredibly materialistic. Under the shadow of the trees, I pulled a sharpened pencil out of my bag. If I had learned anything in the course of my short life, it was that ^anything^ was a weapon if used properly. Like my sketchbook, which hurts like hell when you crack somebody across the head with the back of it.  
  
The person on the bike was a young man--maybe early twenties. His hair was brown with the slightest hint of a reddish hue. I couldn't see his eyes because of his sunglasses.  
  
"You lost?" the man asked me. I couldn't place his accent when he only said two words.  
  
"Not really," I replied truthfully. "I know where I'm at, an' I know where I'm goin'. Jest... tryin' t' get there."  
  
He smirked, and I was under the impression that he was mocking me in some way. "And where ^are^ you goin'?"  
  
I laid my ears back and put my head down to glare at him as would a raptor. "An' it matters why? I know where I'm goin', so unless y' can figure it out yerself, y' can shove off!"  
  
The man didn't seem taken aback in the slightest. He knew where I was headed; that much was obvious. He was just toying with me. "A'right," he said, shrugging. "Suit yo'self."  
  
There. His accent. I could finally place it. My ears twitched just a bit, but I didn't have it fully thought through until the man had already ridden off. No matter. If he thought he was done with me for good, he had another thing coming.  
  
When he was nothing more than a speck further on down the road, I took up my bags again and set off at my own leisurely pace. I would get there eventually, in my own good time, even if it took till sunset.  
  
Another half hour, and I found myself at the corner of a stone wall. Through the trees, I could make out an iron gate a long way down the wall. Hopefully, this was what I was looking for. Following the wall at a quickened pace, I made it to the gate, which was locked, as I had expected. Easy obstacle to overcome. Taking one bag at a time, I leaped over the wall near the gate, pausing only to check the bronzed sign. 'The Xavier Institute,' I thought triumphantly, 'and I made it all the way here on my own. And mum says I can't do anything right except run into walls!'  
  
So I'd won. I'd beaten the odds and the dreaded family curse, and made it across New York. Even if Professor Xavier couldn't help me get back to my own world, I would have a place to stay.  
  
+++++++++++++++  
  
I slowly crept across the grounds of the Institute, half expecting something to shoot at me at any minute. In the distant--though not too far away--I could hear voices and laughing. At length, I found the mansion within view. Leaving my bags in the shadows of the trees, and stripping off the 'Gator Wrestling Team shirt--I had a black tank top underneath because of the hole in the side of the shirt--I slunk out of the shadows and into the line of sight of the three dozen or so people congregated just outside the mansion.  
  
Once one person caught sight of me, silence traveled like a wave across the group, and all stopped to stare. Some just looked on in confusion while others gave me a reproving "You're not supposed to be here" glare.  
  
"Look," I said loudly, "I know I shouldn't be here, but I had nowhere else to go. I don't belong anywhere in this world, and I need the Professor's help to get back to my own." I knew that made no sense, but I was certain they understood the simple statement of "I need the Professor's help" well enough to figure it out.  
  
Before anyone could answer, I heard the somewhat familiar voice of Professor Xavier call to me from the mansion. "I've been watching you. I'm impressed. You made it all the way from New York City on your own!" Murmurs of approval and astonishment swept through the crowd. "I ^will^ see what I can do to send you back to your own world."  
  
So it started. I had found my way there all the way from NYC without anyone's help, and now I had a chance at returning home. Or even the chance at a new life.  
  
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Yee lai. Now this story is in no way connected with any particular comic line. I haven't read the comics (meaning I'm going to have to read my dad's). But seeing as how the characters I will be using in future chapters don't fit into the movies, and there wasn't an X-Men section in the Book category (like there should be!), I've been forced to put this under Comic. So just consider this slightly AU.  
  
The remaining chapters might be a little more lighthearted, and I'll try very hard not to make a habit of insulting every person I meet. And I know my main character doesn't have a name yet, and the title probably has you scratching your head, it will all make sense in the next chapter.  
  
Oh, and if you're a Scott Summers fan, don't read this. Major Scott bashing, just 'cause I hate him so much.  
  
R & R 


End file.
